Posted by: syncopated1 | January 4, 2012

A Winter’s Journey.

Image taken from Moonmeadow Farm without permission.

I spoke to an Oak tree this winter.

I had happened upon him whilst far from home,

He was all alone in his grove,

Quietly contemplating his heritage.

I planted myself at his feet while we talked of the bygone seasons;

The hope of Spring, the dance of Summer,

The solemn work of the Autumn.

Wistfully backwards we journeyed together,

His gaze fixed almost tearfully on that horizon.

Upon that frozen hillside we chatted;

A young man and an old, gnarled tree,

Until I took my leave with frigid toes and frosty breath,

Saddened that the old Oak tree lost so deep in winter

Couldn’t seem to remember that the Hopeful Spring

Always, always followed even the longest Darkest winters.


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